本周跟大家分享读书。Colm Toibin在The New Yorker上登载的最新作品，《睡眠》
I know what you will do when morning comes. I wake before you do and I lie still. Sometimes I doze[假寐], but usually I am alert, with my eyes open. I don’t move. I don’t want to disturb you. I can hear your soft, calm breathing and I like that. And then at a certain point you turn toward me without opening your eyes; your hand reaches over, and you touch my shoulder or my back. And then all of you comes close to me. It is as though you were still sleeping—there is no sound from you, just a need, almost urgent but unconscious, to be close to someone. This is how the day begins when you are with me.
It is strange how much unwitting effort it has taken to bring us here. The engineers and software designers could never have guessed, as they laid out their strategies and sought[原型是什么？] investment, that the thing they were making—the Internet—would cause two strangers to meet and then, after a time, to lie in the half-light of morning, holding each other. Were it not for them, we would never have been together in this place.
One day you ask me if I hate the British, and I say that I do not. All that is over now. It is easy to be Irish these days. Easier maybe than being Jewish and knowing, as you do, that your great-aunts and uncles perished[死亡] at Hitler’s hands. And that your grandparents, whom you love and visit sometimes out on Long Island, lost their brothers and sisters; they live with that catastrophe[大灾难] day in, day out.
It is a pity that there is such great German music, you say, and I tell you that Germany comes in many guises[装束], and you shrug and say, “Not for us.”
注意：第二块的they需要联系上文补充完整是谁；in the half-light of morning